More Than Human
by Niggle
Summary: Dichotic AU. Clark grows a backbone, Lana gets her comeuppance and a Kryptonian AI mixes it up with the inhabitants of Smallville. WIP. Third chapter added.
1. Strangers with Swords

**More Than Human**

What Chloe could not stand was the unfairness of it. Frequent brushes with death were understandable. She was never thrilled to be in mortal danger, but she accepted it as an unavoidable risk of her journalistic style. It was also, she admitted, a risk of living in Smallville. But the unusually high percentage of her close calls which involved dates did not seem at all just to her. Lana never seemed attracted to _her_ stalkers. In her more whimsical moments, Chloe worried that Clark would sprout horns and a tail and try to eat her liver or something, but fortunately her curse applied only in the event of _reciprocated_ attraction. She felt reasonably sure that Clark would not be shedding the affable farmboy persona any time soon.

Which was a shame, because she wouldn't mind one of her best friends displaying freaky meteorite powers if it meant he'd be able to stop Ian. She and Lana edged closer to one another, cornered by not one, but two Ian McAllisters. The odds _looked_ even, but Chloe wasn't about to underestimate someone who had been changed by the meteorites. They tended to be freakishly strong in addition to whatever unique abilities they developed.

The two Ians advanced confidently. "I told you to keep things between us a secret," one of them said.

Chloe was preparing herself to kick and punch and scream like her life depended on it (since it kind of did) when the air between her and Ian shimmered like summer heat. For a moment, she was dizzy, disoriented. She had a strange sensation, like gravity reversing itself for the briefest fraction of a second, and then someone was standing in the space where the air had rippled. It was a woman in simple, loose-fitting black clothes. There was a sword strapped to her back and dark hair clung to her neck in an intricate braid. Chloe shared a dumbfounded look with Lana.

Ian appeared just as confused. "Who are you?" he asked, hesitating.

The stranger answered him in a language which, judging by the facial expressions in the room, no one else recognized. It sounded like cold, empty beauty, like cathedrals of diamond and ice. For a second, the room was silent. When the stranger spoke again, it was in precise, but oddly accented English. She addressed Ian as if he were a puppy who had just piddled on an expensive pair of shoes.

"I am _sa'retha_. In your tongue, a guardian. I serve _Araes'El_. These _de'sao_ are under my protection. You will retreat to a distance of no less than two hundred feet or your life will be forfeit. This is your _taia_, your fair warning."

Uncertainty flashed across Ian's face, quickly replaced by customary arrogance. "Look, you don't know who you're dealing with. Get out of my way," he spat as he continued his threatening advance.

Nearly quicker than sight, the sword flashed from its scabbard and neatly severed Ian's head from his body. Lana screamed and buried her face in Chloe's shoulder. Chloe put her arms reflexively around her friend, but her brain seemed to have stopped. Arterial blood spurted from the razor-straight stump of Ian's neck, while his skull bounced with a few revolting thuds, slinging strings of gore across the room.

Casually, as if she were doing nothing more interesting than chopping wood, the woman moved in the second Ian's direction. His confidence was gone; only fear showed in Ian's expression now.

"I'm sorry, look, I'll go, I'll leave, I'll do whatever you want..." His pleading faltered when he looked in her eyes and saw no mercy there.

"One warning. That is the law."

The sword whistled as it cut the air.

* * *

Clark reached the door of the Torch office first and stopped dead in his tracks. Pete rushed up next to him to see what he was staring at and nearly lost his lunch. He had seen a lot of gross things growing up in Smallville (even some dead bodies) but this was...horrific. He followed a white-faced Clark into the room, trying to keep his stomach from revolting as he stepped between the spreading pools of blood. Lana and Chloe were standing against the far wall looking as shocked as he felt. 

"Pete! Clark!"

Pete wasn't sure who grabbed who for support, but he found himself with an arm around Chloe's shoulders while she clutched his waist. Meanwhile, Lana collapsed into Clark's arms, sobbing softly.

"God, let's get out of here," Chloe blurted, pulling Pete towards the door.

The four of them sunk to the floor when they reached the hallway. "It's okay, Lana, it's okay," Clark cooed. His voice was steady, but his expression betrayed as much distress as Lana's weeping.

"What happened?" Pete asked, looking to Chloe. She turned her head towards him, but didn't meet his eyes. Instead, she stared at a spot on the floor ten feet away.

"I'm not really sure," Chloe offered finally. "Ian came after us. I think...I think he was going to kill us. And then this woman just appears out of nowhere and...and kills him."

"We better call the police," Pete said, grasping at the chance to do something, to move past the moment. Chloe nodded absently. The hall echoed with the sound of labored breathing and the dialing phone. While Pete talked to the 911 operator, Lana's breathing steadied and Clark's gaze shifted to Chloe.

"What did she look like?" he inquired.

"She looked like..." Chloe scoffed softly at herself, as if reconsidering what she was about to say. "She had dark hair, an athletic build. Blue eyes. Very blue. She was speaking a foreign language. I didn't recognize it. Then she spoke in English. She said something about...serving someone...protecting us. She told Ian to leave and when he didn't she just...killed him. Both of him. She said it was 'the law.' Something about only getting one warning."

Chloe laughed softly, humorlessly. "Then she turns to us and asks us if we're okay and I said something about being in a bit of shock and she said she wasn't instructed to look after our 'psychological well-being.'" Chloe made one of her I-know-it-sounds-weird-but-that's-what-happened faces, only slightly ruined by her quavering voice. Clark frowned thoughtfully and turned back to Lana, who was wiping at her face with her sleeves.

"I'm okay," Lana assured him. "I'll be okay."

"The police will be here in a few minutes," Pete informed them. "They said we should just sit tight."

* * *

Chloe stared at her coffee cup to avoid the sight of the police scurrying in and out of the Torch. Her Torch. She wondered idly if the bloodstains would ever come out and even if they did would she be able to work in there again, knowing what had happened ten feet from her desk? That office was her home, her space. And now there was a dead body in it. Two dead bodies. Did it count as two? 

She looked down the hall and watched Clark talking to the sheriff with open, honest eyes. A responsible teenager (an oxymoron in any town but Smallivlle - that must be Clark's freaky meteorite power, she mused, his utter lack of teenage rebellion) doing his civic duty, telling the police what he saw and looking a bit freaked out. He looked like a kid who had seen something terrible and was trying to deal. He looked like she felt.

But he hadn't seen the killer. He hadn't seen the way she just..._executed_ Ian like it was nothing. He hadn't seen the coldness in her eyes or the terrible grace of her movements. That stranger may have saved their lives, but Chloe had a hard time feeling gratitude for someone who could take a life so casually. It was hard to imagine someone like that always understanding the difference between friends and enemies. Not that crazy psycho woman had seemed particularly friendly...

Clark's eyes drifted to hers and she put on her bravest smile, tipping her cup towards him a grateful gesture. He'd made a coffee run while the police were taking her statement and she'd offered to give him a ride home in return, since Pete had already been carted home by his formidable mother. Clark grinned briefly at her, understanding her meaning. He turned away when the sheriff's eyes tracked his momentary attention lapse, but Chloe kept her gaze on him, thinking.

_"What did she look like?"_

_"She looked like..."_

"She looked like you, Clark," Chloe muttered into her styrofoam cup. She could have been his sister. Same strong jaw, same large eyes, same dark hair and perfect complexion. Having seen the face such beauty could wear, she marveled again at Clark's sculpted features. The potential was there. He was as preternaturally beautiful as the woman who murdered Ian. If his eyes were to freeze as hers had, if his nervous fidgeting were to be replaced by a deadly singularity of purpose, he would look the same: like one of ancient Rome's pitiless, capricious gods come to life. Beauty without humanity. Chloe shivered at the thought.

She knew it was impossible. It should have been laughable. Clark didn't draw stares wherever he went for a reason. He had his share of distant admirers around school (a fact obscured to his sight by his customary obliviousness) and God knew he had the body of someone ten years older (a perk of growing up with hard farm labor, she supposed) but his attractiveness was blunted to the eyes of the world by his innocence. The divine features were submerged in a young boy's earnest compassion, hidden from all but the most careful eyes. Where Clark was concerned, Chloe's eyes were very careful. So careful, in fact, that she knew (even if no one else did) that it was the way he wore that perfect face, and not the face itself, that made him so gorgeous.

_Congratulations, Chloe. You've turned your life into a Nora Roberts novel._

Yet, as ridiculous as it seemed, she couldn't shake the image of those Clark-like features drained of all empathy, looking down on humanity from a height of untamable strength and grace.

Clark finished with the sheriff and walked over to her, shoving his large hands into the pockets of his jeans as he approached. "Well, we're free to go," he said ruefully.

"Did you get the overcaffienated, hallucinating teenager treatment, too?"

"Well, since I didn't actually see anything, I got off pretty light," he replied. A soft, half-smile drifted across his features, but she could see the concern in his eyes. She smiled back as bravely as she knew how. Funny how near-decapitation could mend fences. It was like they'd never been fighting.

Lana approached them, then, her long hair looking frayed in the too-bright hall lights. Clark's gaze (of course) shifted to her with magnetic swiftness. "You okay?" he inquired.

"Yeah, just not sure I'm going to sleep tonight," Lana responded. It seemed they were all full of rueful smiles tonight. Tune in tomorrow for angst-riddled sighs.

"You want to ride with me?" Chloe offered as the three of them started for the stairwell. "I know we brought separate cars but I have a feeling you don't want to go home alone any more than I do."

Lana treated Chloe to a grateful smile. "Yeah, thanks."

"Clark," Chloe began when they reached the parking lot. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you about Ian."

"Me too," Lana admitted reluctantly.

"Good," Clark said.

Chloe blinked. Whoa. Puppy got teeth.

Lana stopped a few feet from the car and turned on Clark. "Excuse me?"

"I said, 'good,'" Clark reiterated. After a moment he added, "You should be."

"Clark," Chloe intervened. "You have to admit, things looked a little strange from where we were sitting."

"No. I don't. Look, I know we've all had our differences, but...don't you understand that I would never let anyone hurt you? You don't get to treat me like the jealous boyfriend and then blow it off with a facile apology when I just happen to be right. I don't understand why anything I have to say is automatically written off like I'm the crazy ex. Especially since none of us have ever actually dated. Frankly, I expected more of you both."

Chloe stared at Clark. "Did you just use the word _facile_?"

"Well, we expected more of you, Clark," Lana insisted, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Lana," Clark sighed. "Are you listening to a word I've said?"

Chloe's jaw suddenly felt very, very heavy. Clark was...angry. At _Lana_. She surreptitiously checked the asphalt under her car for meteorites.

Lana seemed to be taken aback by this uncharacteristic show of annoyance. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. "I can't believe you," she said finally with every scrap of righteous anger she could gather. She turned away from Clark and stalked to the other side of Chloe's VW Bug.

"I'll catch a ride with the sheriff," Clark told Chloe, his eyes still on Lana's back. Chloe tried to think of something to say, but she found herself uncharacteristically speechless as Clark turned around and went back into the school.

_To Be Continued...I guess. If I feel like it. _


	2. Close Encounter in Kansas

**Close Encounter in Kansas**

Clark watched through several layers of concrete walls and steel support pillars as Chloe's car turned out of the parking lot, tail lights flashing brilliant red in the darkness. He had no intention of getting a ride with the police, of course, but he wanted to make sure that his friends were out of sight before he started home.

_You tell Lana off and then lie straight to her face. Hypocrite much?_

He sighed and went back outside. The heavy metal exit door clanked solidly shut behind him. The deserted parking lot felt unbearably lonely, but he didn't break into a run. He didn't feel like running yet. He walked at a normal human pace to the street and started for home, one slow step at a time. The gloomy stillness fit his mood.

The look on Lana's face was staying with him, eroding his resolve. It hurt - it almost physically hurt - to see her upset or in pain. But for once, his anger was stronger than his guilt. In the past, he had always accepted her judgments. When she accused him of keeping secrets he did not argue with her. When she pushed him away for not "opening up" he accepted her rejection. He hated lying to her so much that her frustration only deepened his guilt.

But this time was different. She had taken Ian's word over his. Automatically. She had assumed that, because he had kept some things about himself from her, that he was capable of petty, deceptive behavior. Like he was just another of Lana Lang's many stalkers. Like they hadn't spent the last year studying together, riding together, or just talking for hours straight.

The look had done it. Lana had looked at him as if _he_ were the meteor freak. She couldn't have hurt him more if she'd found out what he was and been unable to stand the sight of him. It hurt so bad it made him angry, and that scared him a little. He wasn't used to reacting to pain with anger. Not where Lana was concerned, anyway. His relationship with her had always been painful, but in the past it had been a sweet pain. It was a new feeling, being angry at her for hurting him. He felt as if he had fundamentally altered the way he perceived her. Something was missing now, and he didn't think he'd ever get it back.

Gravel crunched under his work boots as he passed the entrance to the softball field. The school buildings had receded into the distance, leaving only open spaces on this side of the street. Another place that looked oddly melancholy without any students to populate it. Softball. Had he promised to do an article on the girls' game for the _Torch_? God, he hoped not. That would be the third time this week he neglected a _Torch_-related duty. Chloe would kill him.

Chloe. His anger with her was a familiar thing, almost comforting. It didn't burn like his feelings about Lana. He supposed that was because Chloe's actions never seemed to be so much about him. There were things going on behind her eyes that he wasn't privy to. She, like him, had her secrets. He often felt like there was more to her actions and words than he understood. Her apology would be easy to accept.

He had reached the edge of town and was starting down the empty highway before he realized that he'd just spent the last half hour completely avoiding what had happened back at the school.

_A classmate (not a very _nice _classmate, but still) has just been brutally _murdered _and all you can think about is your marathon mating dance with Lana Lang?_

It was hard to think about the murder. Hard to think about the blood-slick floor and the decapitated bodies. He'd gotten used to Smallville's body count - everyone had. But this kind of violence was more than he was used to processing. It frightened him on a level deeper than the fear of physical threat.

He stopped for a moment beside Jack Miller's south field, the first of many fields along Route 4. He liked this, being out in the open where the stars seemed closer than the earth. Out here it was easy to pretend that nothing bad had happened, that no blood had been spilled and the world had always been like this, quiet and dark, corn stalks bobbing in a gentle wind.

He leaned his elbows on the top of Mr. Miller's rough-hewn wooden fence and looked out over the rows of crop, too small and young to hide anything. Someone (or something) very dangerous was in Smallville. She had saved Chloe and Lana, true, but her price was steep and Clark worried that her next appearance would carry an even greater cost. If she returned, it would be up to him to stop her. From Chloe's description, he was the only one who could.

He felt the familiar tension in his gut that arrived with the first scent of trouble and stayed until he fought with someone. It was not fear for himself; he rarely worried for his own safety because it seemed like a pointless activity. But he did fear the consequences of his actions. Not losing a fight was very different from winning one. It was easy not to lose, but to win he had to be perfect. He had to think about others as well as himself. And people were distressingly fragile. Protecting them - not just stopping the people who were harming them but _protecting _them - took more than strength and resilience. It took skill and dexterity.

He had managed so far on instinct, relying on his abilities to give him the edge he needed, but he was increasingly finding himself in situations that almost demanded more of him than he had to give. He was starting to worry that Smallville would some day be faced with a threat that couldn't be picked up and tossed into unconsciousness. He felt as though he should be preparing for that day, but he had no idea how.

First things first. There wouldn't be any fight for him to not lose if he didn't find the woman in question. He could worry about how to keep her from hurting anyone later. Right now he needed to track her down, talk to her, find out who she was and what she could do.

_Sure. Piece of cake_.

He pushed away from the fence with a disconsolate grunt, preparing to start his run home. But when he turned back to the road, there was a woman standing in it. She had dark hair braided close to her neck. She wore loose-fitting black clothes and a slender sword strapped to her back. Chloe and Lana's savior. Right down to the arresting blue eyes.

Clark bit back a startled yelp as manfully as he could. _He_ was the fast one. _He_ was supposed to be the one appearing out of nowhere behind people. It was extremely disconcerting to have one of his own tricks played on him.

The woman went briefly to one knee, placing her right fist knuckle-down on the asphalt in front of her. Then she rose and said, "_Atene'tahl, kai_."

Clark stood very still, ready to react at full speed. She didn't seem hostile. She seemed downright friendly. He reminded himself forcefully of the incredible volume of human blood now splayed across the walls and floor of the _Torch_ office.

"Who are you?" he asked warily.

"Why _ka-tana-Ro _are you speaking that human tongue?" the stranger retorted, eyeing him doubtfully.

Clark experienced a brief spasm of confused vertigo. This woman was speaking to him as if she knew where he came from. He forced his features to arrange themselves into an expression that would not give away his panic. He tried to tell himself that there might be another explanation.

"What are you talking about? What else would I speak?" he demanded with as much confidence as he could gather.

"The language of your ancestors," the woman replied, her tone accusatory. "A language of poets and kings."

"I take it you haven't heard of Shakespeare or Henry the Fifth," Clark returned weakly.

"Human affairs are not my concern," she said.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"I am _sa'retha_ to _Araes'El_. The guardian of your House. As you are the last of your line, I take my orders from you alone."

"I didn't tell you to kill anyone," Clark protested breathlessly. "I've never even seen you before!"

"You do not need to speak to communicate your instructions."

"How could I have told you to do something before I knew you existed?" he asked incredulously.

True confusion settled over the woman's perfect features. "Do you know nothing of yourself? Of your people?"

"I'm Clark Kent. My parents are Martha and Jonathan Kent," he insisted, frowning at her. "Our farm is on Hickory Lane. I don't know who you think I am, but I definitely don't want anyone dead."

He shifted his defensive posture belligerently and took a few steps in her direction, hoping that he looked more determined than he felt. The prospect of her knowing more about his origins than he did himself was frightening, but he had to think of the threat she posed to Smallville first. His home, his responsibility. He didn't care what she knew; if she tried to hurt anyone else, he _would_ stop her.

"You are Kal-El of the House of El. And you have lived too long among these _de'sao_, these humans," she replied, wrinkling her nose as if she smelled something base. "You have their stink all over your mind, if not your body."

Some deep, instinctual memory stirred within Clark then. He didn't exactly recognize the name she used, but it was not quite as unfamiliar as he felt it ought to have been. He tried to tell himself that there was no proof of her authenticity, but he could not bring himself to be convinced. She _felt_ real. Dangerously so.

"You still haven't told me where you come from. And what do you mean you're a guardian?" he demanded.

"I thought that was self-explanatory. Must I explain the most basic concepts to you as if you were a human?"

"I _am_ human," Clark retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I want to know what you're doing in my town."

She moved inhumanly fast. Time seemed to slow as she came for him. He blocked one strike and then another, but her third attack slipped through his defenses. Her fist hit his head so hard he fell to one knee, crumbling the asphalt beneath him and ruining another pair of perfectly good jeans. He turned his shock to action, but by the time he'd risen and turned to look at her, she was just standing there, her posture devoid of threat. She had attacked him only to prove a point. He ran his tongue around the corner of his mouth and tasted blood.

Blood.

"How did you do that?" he asked, shaken.

"If you were human, you'd be dead. I am here because you called me. And I will go because you wish it."

The space she occupied seemed to fold in on itself and expand infinitely at the same time. There was no loud noise, no flash of light. Reality twisted, and she was gone.

Clark stared at the place where she'd been standing and rubbed at his jaw. Whatever cut the blood had come from had already healed, but his face was still slightly sore. He'd never been hit so hard in his life. The presence of meteorites would have been perversely comforting, but he knew there weren't any around. She was just that strong.

He looked around uneasily. The night suddenly seemed much larger and less friendly. He took off down the highway at near full speed, as if to assure himself that he could still break the sound barrier, and headed for home.


	3. Of Ding Dongs and Beheadings

**Of Ding Dongs and Beheadings**

For the next week, Chloe was too busy with her own trouble to notice Clark's moping. And if she did notice, she wrote it off as being Lana-related. She felt it was a safe bet, statistically. So, if he seemed a bit more preoccupied than usual, she was definitely _not_ going to ask. The last thing she needed was yet another retelling of Clark and Lana's ill-fated love saga. Her own problems were quite enough to be getting on with.

She'd decided to tackle things head-on. It had proved a successful strategy in the past. When the memory of Ian's carotid artery painting the walls of the _Torch_ kept her awake at night (and even visited her once or twice while she was still awake) she spent those nights online, running every kind of search she could think of. When she found herself hesitating to enter the office that had previously been her sanctuary, she forced herself to spend the next hour sitting on the newly-mopped floor, proving to herself that blood could be washed away and that things could go back to some kind of normal.

The problem was that she couldn't really bring herself to believe that, not until she satisfied her curiosity about that night. People who lived in Smallville got used to trauma. Well. People who _investigated_ Smallville got used to trauma, certainly. She still had bad memories and worse nightmares about being attacked, about being trapped in an enclosed space with her air running out, all alone in the dark...

But she knew what had happened. She knew that Gary Watts had tried to bury her alive and that Clark Kent had saved her. She knew that Watts was in jail and that it was _over_. Ian's murder remained unsolved. Whoever (or whatever) killed him was still at large and the definition of "at large" held all kinds of disturbing possibilities, especially where killers who could appear out of thin air were concerned.

So, she did what (she hoped) she did best; she investigated. First she wrote down everything she could remember. Then she hit the net. Unfortunately, she hadn't had much luck with the physical description and a search for information on beheadings had yielded nothing more interesting than a surprising number of _Highlander_ fan sites.

She was in the process of narrowing her search to a more specialized tier of sources when Clark interrupted her modest attempt to take back her life. It was well past dinnertime by the standards of at least three time zones, but Chloe hadn't felt much like eating recently. She was, however, dying for another caffeine fix, which made Clark's company more welcome than usual.

"How ever did you know?" she asked playfully, dumping a small forest of styrofoam cups off the desk to make room for the cup carrier he offered her. He flashed her one of those brief, bright Kent grins that had become so rare in the past year or so.

"You project an unmistakable aura of decaffeination. I could sense it all the way from the farm."

"You came all this way just to give me coffee? How did you even know I was going to be here?" She took an exploratory sip of the fresh stuff and cursed in the unique gibberish of a burned tongue.

"I called your house first. Your dad told me you were here," Clark responded, his face serious once more. He grabbed a chair from another desk and turned it around so he could rest his elbows in front of him while he looked at her.

"Why didn't you just call my cell phone?" she inquired, nursing her sore mouth. She quirked a suspicious eyebrow. "Unless you just wanted to find out where I was, not talk. Clark Kent. Are you checking up on me?"

"I'm worried about you, Chloe. You haven't spent this much time at the _Torch_ since the Noodle Incident."

Chloe's smile was sincere as she turned her eyes back to her computer screen. Only Clark would be able to mention Pete's infamous blunder with a straight face. Once he got a bone in his teeth he was immune to humor. She had only one diversionary tactic left.

"I'm surprised you noticed, given the recent upheaval in the Lanaverse. She's been cleaning non-stop, you know. It's freaking my dad out. I don't think he knew what baseboards were, much less that we have them in our house. Come to think of it, neither did I. Can't you guys just kiss and make up?" She glanced away from her fifteen browser windows long enough to see Clark's brow furrowing, as if he was trying to decide whether she was serious.

"The ball's in her court. And quit changing the subject."

Chloe tried valiantly to hide her surprise. As long as she could remember, the subject of Lana had been a foolproof Clark distracter, even when he _wasn't_ in full mope mode. She shuffled windows while she tried to think of a response. Was it possible that something else was bothering him?

"Clark," she asked, turning back to him. "There's something else going on with you, isn't there?"

_Nice. Real subtle,Chloe. You must be a reporter or something._

"Don't try to turn this around on me," he scoffed. But she could tell she'd struck a nerve. He shifted his weight irritably. "I'm not the one spending sixteen hours a day at school. If Reynolds knew you were here this late he'd take away your key. How do you get in the building, anyway?"

"Probably the same way you do-"

"I seriously doubt that-"

"Are you feeling okay? Are you sure you don't have a temperature?" Chloe slapped a hand over his forehead. He frowned at her but did not flinch from her touch.

"What are you talking about, Chloe?"

"Look," she continued. "Don't take this the wrong way, but Lana is the most interesting thing in your life and if you haven't been mooning around because of her, then something must be seriously up with you."

"I'm telling your housemate you called her a thing-"

"Only out of grammatical necessity-"

"And what do you mean mooning around? How would you even know - you've been holed up in the _Torch_ all week."

Chloe sighed and started bookmarking. She obviously wasn't going to get any more work done tonight. "The fact that you've made up some mysterious problem for me is a clear indication that you're not yourself."

"Oh, so it's out of character for me to pay attention to you? Why do you always act like I ignore you all the time?"

Her response died long before it reached her lips, strangled by confusion and fear and indignation. Her face felt hot. She quickly clicked off her monitor and got up to gather her belongings. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clark's eyes tracking her for a moment. He sighed and turned his gaze to the window, but he rose with her when she started for the door.

"Look, I'll talk if you do," Clark said as he grabbed the all-important coffee she'd left behind in her haste. He handed it to her in the hallway, after she clicked off the lights and locked the office. "I'll even eat cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip with you while watching _Doctor Zhivago._ We can sing "Kumbaya" and roast marshmallows and maybe shave some whales later."

Chloe accepted the coffee and snorted at him as they started towards the stairwell. "An impressive variety of references, but I believe your comfort food of choice is the Ding Dong, serving size: one truckload. Have I told you lately how inhumanly gross that habit is?"

He returned her smile with one of his own, but she saw him flinch at the word _inhuman_. "I'm just kidding, Clark," she added.

"I know. It's a sore subject. Hostess is no longer returning my calls."

"Well, you're just in everyone's doghouse today."

"Except yours."

She grinned at him. "Except mine. I'm a great believer in the redemptive power of coffee."

They descended the darkened steps in silence. Chloe took a few sips of her latte and edged a bit closer to Clark. She always hurried to and from the _Torch_ when she worked this late. Smallville High had an uncomfortable reputation for after-hours violence, so she had to admit she was grateful for Clark's presence. Things never seemed to turn out badly when he was around.

Even when they fought with each other, they managed to stay friends.

"Okay," she breathed after a few more moments of the comfortable silence Clark had left for her. "I guess the idea of this psycho woman still running around possibly chopping more people's heads off has got me a little worried. I just want to find out about her, that's all."

Clark abruptly stopped walking and turned to face her, his features dimly lit by the glow of an exit light. "You're researching the woman who killed Ian?"

"Yeah," Chloe drawled uncertainly. "Is that a problem?"

"No, it..." He looked away for a moment, and when he turned back his eyes were shuttered. "I just don't think you'll find anything. I mean, she definitely wasn't from Smallville, right?"

"I don't know where she came from. I'd just like to understand what happened so that I can sleep at night. I know she saved my life and everything, but...I think I'm more afraid of her than I was of Ian."

"She won't hurt you, Chloe," Clark responded with more confidence than she felt he had a right to.

"Well, forgive me if I don't take your word for it." She paused. "Unless there's something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know something about this woman. That's what's got you so worked up lately."

"I haven't been worked up-"

"Clark," she said, catching his eyes with her own. "If you know anything about this-"

"I just think you should drop it," he said shortly as he shoved the back door open with a clank. Chloe followed him into the parking lot.

"Look, it's okay to keep secrets when they're personal and private, but this is about me. You can't come into _my_ life and tell me how to do things. It doesn't work like that."

They faced each other in the empty night. Chloe could almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes. What could he possibly know about the strange woman? And why was he so reluctant to reveal it?

"I saw her," he said finally. "After you guys left. She didn't seem…well, she _is_ dangerous. But I'm not going to let her hurt anyone else."

"Who is she?" she asked, hardly able to speak through her astonishment.

"I don't know any more than you do, Chloe."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me this. Are you all right? Did she hurt you?"

"I'm fine," he replied uncomfortably.

Of course he was fine. Clark was always fine. No matter how dicey things got, he always managed to get by without a scratch, even while everyone around him suffered severe concussions. She'd never been to visit _him_ in the hospital, which she thought was totally unfair because it meant she had to suffer the indignity of skimpy hospital gowns all by herself.

No, that wasn't true. She remembered Eric Summers bruising Clark's ribs once. He'd recovered pretty quickly, but he _had_ been injured. He wasn't invincible. Nobody was.

"Well, what did she say?"

"Nothing I could make any sense out of. But I don't think you're going to have much luck trying to track her down. Just forget about it, okay? If she comes back, I won't let her hurt anyone else."

Chloe found herself slightly comforted, despite herself. Even though she knew, rationally, that Clark didn't stand any better chance against the mystery woman than Ian had (not to mention the rather obvious fact that he couldn't be everywhere at once) a part of her believed him. For some reason, when Clark Kent made a promise of protection, it was easy to believe him. She blew out a frustrated sigh.

"This isn't just about the danger of a repeat occurrence. It's about finding out what happened. I…I can't sleep at night, Clark." The words came out broken and difficult, but she forced them anyway. "I keep seeing Ian's _head_ bouncing across the floor. I can't put this behind me until I understand it. She was…it _scared_ me, the way she killed him…"

Clark's face softened as she talked and when her eyes started to burn he pulled her to him. She could hear the steady strength of his heartbeat as her head rested on his chest and she felt her own heart rate slowing in response.She gave herself a few moments before she tilted her head to look at him.

"I'm sorry," he said, his expression pained.

She smiled at him. She meant it to look brave, but she doubted she did much better than wan. "It's not your fault, Clark."

She sniffed a little and pulled herself out of his arms and back into reality. She was done talking – or fighting, whatever they had been doing. "Come on," she said, grabbing her keys out of her purse. "I'll give you a ride home. Save your dad a trip."

For a second, he looked like he was going to argue with her, so she added, "Oh, give me a break. I don't see any other cars in this parking lot and your dad is _always_ the one who ferries you around when you weirdly decide not to drive. I guess your mother is too busy baking pies, which is _fine_ by me because her pies are absolutely orgasmic."

A year ago, her choice of words would have earned her a spectacular Kent blush, but this time he merely shot her a bemused look and got in the car. The conversation on the way to Hickory Lane tended more towards Ding Dongs than strangers with swords.

_To Be Continued…Hopefully Quicker Next Time…There Was Supposed to Be Some Violence in This Bit, But Chloe and Clark Would. Not. Shut. Up…_


End file.
